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Leave it to the English to embellish a term like "shit-gaze" and in doing so codify the current DIY threadbare scrape of Times New Viking, Psychedelic Horseshit, and Tyvek. No surprise that the greatest shit-gazer of all time was none other than Samuel Coleridge, an avowed Brit who, plied full of laudanum, would sit for hours and stare at his bowel movements, writing copious notes on their color, texture, etc. "Monday? Oh, stool journal, to where didst thine weekend go?" At any rate, it's hard to gauge how much mileage the Limeys can get with such a phrase, but cross your fingers it hangs around long enough for Eat Skull to share in the odorous mirth. Call their genre whatever you want; Eat Skull will be ensconced in the stately pleasure-dome at Xanadu, waiting for the checks to clear. Biscuit crumbs and tea stains be damned, Eat Skull are a quartet hailing from Portland, Oregon, co-masterminded by Rob Enbom (former bushwacker in the ranks of Hospitals and Hole Class) and another original Hospital, Rod Meyer (the greatest living genius of punk). Previous Eat Skull efforts include a cassette-only EP and a pair of 7-inches, all of which might be out of print. Like their brethren and forebears, Eat Skull runs a post pattern deep beyond pop and punk. They bring to the game an extrasensory appreciation of New Zealand's South Island Sound (Great Unwashed, Axemen), Cleveland art-damage skronk (Modern Art Studio, X-X), and the wretched excess of forgotten Midwest hardcore (Stiff Legged Sheep, Chemotherapy). In other words, just what you need! Pip, pip matey, rum, sodomy, chin up and all that. Sick to Death is sure to be a lock for many year-end bests or Tom Lax's (DJ) name isn't Kublai Khan.